Eponymous

If you google it and no hits come up, does it exist?

You'd be tempted to say nuh-uh, nope, it doesn't. But, in this case, you'd be wrong. I think.

In the 1980s, when I first started working as an editor at a book publisher, a proof cabinet was the most coveted piece of office furniture. Evah. Made of super-sturdy wood, with movable shelves, it organized all your manuscript and proof for the all books you had in process. You'd use your Selectric to neatly type a label for each adjustable cubbyhole, so you knew right where the proofread first pages for your intro to U.S. political science title were.

Whenever editors left the company, the rush to snag their proof cabinet was fierce. Young editors had to wait their turn for one. Lucky old-timers sometimes had TWO proof cabinets, stacked into an impressive tower. I always assumed proof cabinets were expensive commodities, since our company never seemed to buy new ones; the old ones were just endlessly recycled.

I swear, those things weighed a ton. I used to say I would jump at the chance to buy one for my house. Now I'm thankful I never added a wooden receptacle heavier than a refrigerator to my worldly goods.

Not long ago, I started reminiscing about proof cabinets, and searched the web for images of them. Nada. Mentions of them? Zip. I even checked with one of my old book-publishing colleagues: Wasn't that what those things were called? Yes.

Maybe people at other publishing houses called them something else.

But maybe proof cabinets just never made the leap over to the electronic age, and are now essentially lost in the sands of time. It makes me sad. I loved proof cabinets, because I love being an editor.

To me, proof cabinets were emblematic of the publishing mystique, the feeling that you were doing important work with smart people. And that getting your piece of the work right—overseeing the creation of organized, clear, concise, accurate, meaningful, interesting reading materials—was part of a grand tradition you were called upon to uphold.

Long live the proof cabinet.